Both Sides of the Glass
by ErinRua
Summary: Two views of a much-anticipated wedding. Norrington and a snifter of brandy, and Jack ... being Jack. Just a bit of cheery fluff from a frivolous muse! Complete.
1. Default Chapter

_Author's Note: This is simply a flight of fancy that my muses delivered, and probably, at least in the second part, not a realistic premise.  However, it wanted to be written.  Note to self: Don't let Norrington get in the brandy again …_

**BOTH SIDES OF THE GLASS**

**By ErinRua**

**Part One: NORRINGTON**

The Governor's mansion had never resounded with gaiety so bright, nor filled itself with such a bounty of flowers and feasting.  The light, merry notes of a minuet carried with it voices and laughter, and every table gleamed with the finest of foods and the brightest of blossoms.  But then the wedding of the Governor's only daughter was an event long-awaited and deserved no less celebration.

Thus it was perhaps odd that Commodore James Norrington found himself standing pressed and powdered and ever so correct amongst a bevy of his officers and other gentlemen, and yet he was alone.  At this moment the only companions he chose were his thoughts and a snifter of brandy.  Those who knew him saw the shuttered look on his smooth-shaven face and did not disturb him, which was how he preferred it to be.

And so he watched, as the newly-weds glided about the room.  So lightly they moved that it seemed they trod upon the music itself and not on the floor at all.  Where William Turner had learned to dance he could not imagine, as a blacksmith had precious little time and less need for the social graces.  Then Norrington winced at his own silent barb and let the slow flame of brandy burn the thought away.   William Turner had, simply and obviously, cared enough to extend himself so as not to shame his lovely lady, which any man with wit would commend.

Duly chidden, Norrington continued to let his eyes drift above the rim of his glass, following their graceful flight among the other dancers.  She _was lovely, in every truest sense of the word.  Elizabeth Swann … the very name was perfection.  From the tips of her silk-slippered toes to the top of her elegantly-coifed head, it suited her.  She was grace without effort, beauty without pretense, pride without arrogance and cool as a lily but with a gamine's keen glint lurking in those lovely brown eyes.  He had wished her for his own.  Never had he offered a thing so truly or with so whole a heart as when he had asked for her hand.  He __would love her - of that he had no doubt.  Her every wish, her every hope, her every dream he would have cherished above his own, saving only his duty and honor.  How long had that hope lingered, before ever he dared give it voice?_

Strange, how life worked out.  Strange, how one day they could pull a half-drowned boy from a sea of burning wreckage, and the wheels of destiny abruptly turned into motion.  Norrington was not a man who knew any great belief in fate.  He was a man who knew the geometry of wind and sails and how to command men when fear or sloth might obstruct them, and every last convoluted paragraph of the military codes of conduct.  But perhaps … he had never stood a chance.  Perhaps Elizabeth was never meant to be his.

Perhaps that tall boy out there, surprisingly elegant in a claret-colored _justacorps_ coat and a bit of lace at his throat - surely Elizabeth had a hand in that, as well - was something Commodore Norrington was not.  And that thought surprised him.

Norrington's free hand drifted to his side, where it clasped the cool hilt of the dress sword hanging there.  The sword that Will Turner had made for his promotion to commodore, a sword of such rarely perfect balance and craftsmanship that it had astonished him.  When faced with the truth of Elizabeth's choice at last, Norrington's conditions had been simple: '_I would expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion in every aspect of his life.'  And Will Turner had done just that._

The music ended, the dancers slowly milling amongst themselves and bystanders, smiling, laughing, faces shining.  Turner stood to one side with Elizabeth at his right hand, smiling often to those who stopped with well-wishes.  Norrington watched the young man, pondering.  A blacksmith and by some definitions a pirate, or at least the son of one, and yet the lad apparently lacked the acumen to know just how out of his realm he was, here in this house of polished floors, discreet servants and fine English furniture.

Or perhaps he simply did not care.  Everything Turner wanted in the world stood at his side, her laughter tinkling like ice in a crystal glass as she clasped a lady friend's gloved fingers.  The woman offered her greetings to Turner, next, and Norrington found himself amused as the groom very properly bowed over the lady's hand, brushed her knuckles with a chaste kiss - and straightened with a twinkling grin that could only be described as roguish.  Whatever the threesome spoke of, all three of them laughed.  Then Turner bowed once again and the lady departed.

"I do hope Elizabeth won't regret her decision," a very prim male voice said nearby.  "He seems an awfully decent chap, but …"

Norrington sipped his brandy and permitted himself a bit of eavesdropping, as the man's wife spoke in reply.  "Now, George, you know perfectly well that Will Turner is as sterling as they come.  Granted, a tradesman is not what one would expect, but look how diligently he has applied himself.  He is even said to have prospered himself in two or three off-island trading ventures."

"Yes … yes, the boy does work hard.  But …"

Smothering a wry smile, Norrington pondered that those 'trading ventures' may well have involved a certain rogue of a pirate, but since nothing ever substantiated his hunches, he let them rest unspoken.  Jack Sparrow was another conundrum himself, once Norrington had taken time to truly review the man's record.  A pirate, aye, but a remarkably bloodless one, for all his lurid reputation.

"George," the woman said tartly, "for heaven's sake!  Good breeding requires more than being born to a certain station.  Look at Philip and Susanna's son - he's up to his cravat in gambling debts.  And that Witherspoon boy - surely you've heard of his indiscretions with certain ladies.  Let us not forget young Samuel Hepplewaite, either, carousing and fighting in taverns - I dare say our Elizabeth will never have to worry what her husband is doing or whether their house is about to be seized by debt-collectors!"

"You are correct, of course, Sarah."  The man sighed.  "There is no doubt the boy is perfectly mad about her, and his reputation while colorful is that of an honest and honorable young man."

"Of course it is.  And who's to say colorful is a bad thing?  Come, dear, let us try some more of that excellent punch."

And there was another thing.  Midshipmen were drilled and hounded and bullied in all matters of seamanship, and most particularly in matters of duty, honor and the conduct becoming to officers and gentlemen.  All of which a simple young blacksmith owned without effort.  In all the years of his apprenticeship Turner had never failed in maintaining his proper place.  A gentle smile, a precise, heels-together bow, a soft-spoken greeting or word of respect, all these he had offered to his supposed "betters" without fail.

And yet behind those keen dark eyes lurked heated steel, as Norrington himself had found out, a simmering, fierce refusal to deny or step away from The Right Thing, whatever it might be and however perilous the risks.  Even now, there seemed a very subtle arrogance - though perhaps that was too strong a word - in the boy's deportment.  Behind the smiles and bows his eyes remained steady as a blade; before Port Royal's finest gentlemen and ladies he was cool as glass; no matter what grand title was introduced to him and his bride that stubborn chin never lowered.  Will Turner plain and simply refused to be intimidated, yet he did so with such smiling grace that none could take offense.

Only then did Norrington realize that here and now was the first time he had looked, truly looked, at the man Will Turner was.  A good man.  An honest man.  A man without guile or deceit or the petty ambitions that drove others to compromise honor, or to wink an eye at the little white lies that whittled away a man's integrity.  Across the room that gentle smile was oft-repeated, brown eyes frequently narrowed in merriment and the white teeth flashing.  Ah, and when Turner looked at his bride, when he beheld his Elizabeth at his side, where she would be until death did them part … Norrington saw the naked truth of a blacksmith's heart, shining and gentle and without reservation, an entire soul offered in each tender glance, and just as gently received.

Strangely, in so seeing, Norrington did not sense the old empty pang of loss, or the hollow twist of defeat. Instead, he felt … as if somewhere within a window had been opened, and for the first time in too long a fresh breeze blew through, in one clean gust scattering the dust of might-have-beens forever.  For the first time, he looked at Elizabeth Swann, now Elizabeth Turner, and felt only peace.  He had loved her.  Once.  And now he could let her go.

Across the room two sets of dark eyes lifted and met his, and two smiles bloomed.  He stood with a small smile of his own as they came towards him, and set aside the brandy snifter as Elizabeth offered her hand.  For the first time he could touch those dainty fingers and not feel his heart trip clumsily over itself.

"Why are you not dancing, Commodore?" Elizabeth chided teasingly.  "I dare say brandy is not the warmest companion."

"I fear my feet are surer on a ship's deck or a parade ground than a dance floor, Mrs. Turner," he replied.  "I thought to spare your lady guests being trampled."

"Nonsense, Commodore," came the groom's reply, and clear mischief glinted in his eyes.  "I think I shall take offense if you do not grant my wife at least one dance."

Norrington concealed his shock, but just barely, as the thought resounded in his head; my God, where does he learn such trust?  For in the young man's brilliant smile he saw only friendship, offered with no slightest cloud of jealousy or suspicion, and his own heart twisted queerly.

"Far be it from me," Norrington replied with a droll wink, "To offend the Governor's son-in-law.  Particularly when he possesses such wicked talent with a sword.  If I may, Mrs. Turner?"

The musicians were starting up again, violin and cello leading the opening bars.  Elizabeth's smile held the radiance of sunlight on pink roses as she laid her fingers on his sleeve.

"You may, Commodore Norrington."

Then they stepped away into the circle of polished floor, into the warm glow of chandeliers and smiles and candlelight on beautiful gowns.  Will Turner stood among the gentlemen and officers with his heart in his eyes, watching his wife turn the first page of their future together.

***


	2. Sparrow

**BOTH SIDES OF THE GLASS**

**By ErinRua**

**Part Two:  SPARROW**

Outside the governor's mansion the grounds were hushed and still.  The carriages were parked, the guests' horses were stabled, and the stable boys sat in the kitchen attacking heaped plates of wedding eatables.  The stars twinkled above the gardens where roses drowsed in fragrant warmth, and … one rose bush rustled.   Then it rustled again.  Then it jostled and swore rather earnestly: "Bloody HELL!"

Beneath the bush an intruder crouched, sucking a stinging knuckle and glaring at the dark foliage around him.  Roses.  Their lush fragrance breathed soothingly upon him and as his temper eased he tried to remember the last time he had smelled roses.  Real ones, not cloying perfumes splashed on feminine flesh.  Then again, when was the last time he set foot in a governor's front yard?  Still sucking his knuckle for the coppery taste of blood, he eased up and peered towards the glowing windows.  Through the mullioned panes he could see another garden, this one a colorful array of human finery as wedding guests moved and turned within.  On the rose-scented breeze drifted the melodic strains of a minuet, another item to add to his list of Things Not Experienced Lately.

Sparrow had laughed when the missive reached him.  They all had.  Uproariously and at length.  Rich!  It was bloody hysterical.  A pirate at the wedding of a governor's daughter - yes, he and the entire crew of the _Black Pearl _had simply roared.

However, for whatever reason he had kept the invitation, tucking away the bit of silk ribbon that bound it and carefully folding the smooth, embossed paper with its elegantly printed lines.  Printed, not hand-written.  Aye, the Governor of Jamaica would have spared no expense in preparations for his only daughter's wedding.

But no one had expected him to reply.  Will Turner knew better than that.  A good laugh, it was - sending a wedding invitation to a pirate, and Sparrow smiled to imagine those two young ones giggling together at their bit of private mischief.  He doubted very much that Elizabeth Swann would dare put the name Jack Sparrow on her guest list, and further doubted that her very proper father ever knew the invitation was sent.  Still, it was the thought that counted, as the old saying went.

When the laughter died away and the trade winds drew the _Black Pearl on into the night, he stood and stared at the stars of the Southern Cross agleam in a Caribbean sky.  Somewhere beyond the dark horizon lay Port Royal, and just for once he slipped the mooring line on his thoughts and let them drift to two young people who were … if not friends, then at least dear to his unscrupulous and conniving heart._

Three days later, he told his crew, "If I'm not back in a week … do whatever seems best."

Now he crouched like a thief in the night, stinging from thorns in the governor's rose bushes.  A pirate at a wedding …. As the gay tinkle of music continued he grinned anew.  The looks on their faces - 'ello, Guv'nor, lovely wedding, ennit?  Fancy a bit of punch?  'Ere, let me liven that up with a dollop of rum, ay?  For a moment that mad, delightful impulse was almost too good to resist, but mad did not mean stupid, and so Jack Sparrow stayed put.  Or at least he stayed hidden, once again creeping forward through the garden, his goal a better view of those tall, golden windows.

His thoughts touched upon the newlyweds, yet unseen within that realm of light and music.  Elizabeth Swann.  Keen as a rapier, soft as a rose petal, graceful as her namesake and never quite what she seemed.  Sparrow's gold teeth glinted in a smile that only the stars saw.  You'll have your hands full, Will, me boy.  But then again, Will could surprise a man, too, once he dropped that mask of gently-smiling propriety - and oh, it could drop quick as a razorblade.

That had warmed Jack's black heart to see, the fire of the father still simmering in the son.  Young Will was oft times hampered by all that honor and chivalry balderdash, and insisted on drawing forth the better angels of Sparrow's nature - angels which Jack preferred to keep too drunk or too distracted to bother him.  Will simply could not see the sheer sport to be had in outfoxing the buffoons of the world, the glee of fleecing fat, complacent men who thought they were clever and that their station by birth somehow elevated them above others.  But for a stroke of blind luck, any one of such pompous fools could have been born in a gutter or a London slum.  Oh, it was delicious to leave them helplessly raging at the loss of their gold and riches.  Sparrow had known the hard heel of the world enough, and he felt no pity save for those to whom pity was truly due.

No, position did not make a better man, and perhaps that was why Sparrow could respect the son of Bootstrap Bill: the lad was as common as they came, but he believed in himself and he stood fast for what he held to be right.  Like his father, Will Turner was born with more nobility naturally in his blood, than any landed gentry could ever hope to claim.

Ah, and Elizabeth … born to the very aristocracy that Sparrow found so little use for, and yet she possessed a rare fire and truth of spirit and plain be-damned sense of self that should be the envy of all noblewomen.  He was pleased to no end that she so defied convention to answer the call of her heart.  They deserved each other, in the truest sense of the phrase, and though Jack was no romantic he knew truth when it slapped him in the face.  Had fate led those two lovers to any other path, he would have cursed to his last breath the blind stupidity of a world that only valued treasure when it could be run between the fingers.

Hibiscus, that was what he smelled now, the heady fragrance making him think of lying warmly beneath a fat Caribbean moon, with a willing lass and no care but the moment at hand.  The music had stopped, voices rising in a murmuring wave of genteel cheer, and he could see people moving around the lighted room.  What they really needed was someone to leap out in a high-stepping, knee-cracking jig; that would be just the thing to liven up festivities.  After all, this was a wedding!  Rum and dancing, that's what a wedding should be, not tripping daintily about in silk stockings and buckle shoes.

And then he saw them.  They were beautiful.  The thought astonished him even as it formed and fled.  Commodore Norrington was there, too, in all his starched and polished finery, and the man was actually smiling as he handed Elizabeth back to the groom.  The newlyweds smiled in return, speaking some friendly reply.  Elizabeth glowed like silk and ivory, as if the very light of the room sought her and caressed every elegant line.  Beside her Will Turner stood like a young lord, a prince of lions, tall and poised and meeting every noble face with a smile as steady as a drawn blade.

Sparrow felt a swift, fierce rush of pride as he watched, for he knew that many of the guests wore clothing worth as much as a blacksmith made in a year.  Such as now; a portly couple approached the newlyweds, the gentleman's coat stitched in an obscene amount of gilt ribbon and the lady gowned in enough silk to put sails on a fair-sized boat.  The pirate did not need to hear them to imagine the oh-so-prim tones of their voices.  But Elizabeth simply smiled and Will, Will grinned with charming impudence and said something that startled the gentleman - and then prompted them all into hearty laughter.

A door latch clicked and Sparrow froze, sinking lower into the dark shrubbery.  A bar of light swept the lawn as a brief scent of brandy and something clove-like touched his senses.  Starlight glinted on pristine white uniform piping and matching waistcoat - and wasn't this just lovely, Commodore Norrington had stepped outside for fresh air.  The pirate dared not move, even for the unseen stone biting a chunk out of his knee.  Norrington half-turned and seemed to scan the garden, although what he thought to see in the dark was anybody's guess.  Probably watching for skulking pirates.  Sparrow held his breath, literally, as the man's gaze passed over his hiding place - looked right at him, blast it all! - and then moved on.  A moment more, then Norrington about-faced and stepped back inside.  The pirate barely breathed until through the window he saw Norrington once more, doing nothing more dramatic than dipping a glass of punch.

Relief nearly washed the starch out of him, and Jack sank back with a long, bitter sigh.  Here he was, hiding in the dark watching someone else's party.  What did you expect, Sparrow?  That they would somehow know you were here?  That they would rush to welcome you inside with a plate of dainties and a glass of punch?  Of course not; and here he sat, watching from alone in the dark whilst others went on with their gay and well-fed lives.  Fool and fool, and fool again.

However, he had his proof.  There was still a bit of justice in this grubby ol' world.  Blacksmiths could wed a nobleman's daughter, and a good man could stand straight and proud simply because he knew he was, in all ways that mattered, a good man.  Those were measures to which Jack Sparrow never held himself nor felt a need to.  He did what was right by him, and betimes he had inadvertently done what was right for someone else.  Nobility was no part of him, though, and he would make no claims on it.  But a good man had wed a fine woman, and one corner of the world would rest well tonight.  As for the trifles he had brought with him, as planned he would find a place to leave them, so they would be found on the morrow.  Let that be enough.

He began to move again, crouched like some lanky monkey in a tattered sash and tricorn hat, easing across the lawn and back into the rose bushes.  The door opened again.  Jack sank down and was still.  Two silhouettes there were, man and woman, and they came out and closed the door behind them.  Blast and blast!  Their footsteps tapped quietly closer on the flagstone path and Sparrow tried very hard to think like a rose bush.

"Jack!"

The hissed sound nearly shocked his heart right into his throat.

"Jack?"  The woman's whisper was softer and he was on his feet before he knew he had given his body permission to stand.

They were here.  Limned in lantern light and staring at him as if he had just popped out of a magic lamp.  Hard fingers seized Jack's arm and turned him bodily around.

"Hurry, this way!"

Down a set of steps they pattered until a hedge stood between them and the house.  That same hand grabbed him again and spun him to face the new Mr. and Mrs. Turner.

"Jack, are you mad?"  Will's whisper shot into a near squeak.  "The commodore saw you - what were you thinking?"

"That I simply adore weddings?" Sparrow replied, and stepped back to brush fastidiously at his abused sleeves.  "Really, Will, this whole affair has you nearly in hysterics."

"Hyst - Jack, if you're found -."

"Yes, yes, they'll shoot me, hang me, throw me to the dogs, I know all that.  But -."  He ceased his primping to offer a smile that glittered even in the dark.  "They won't find me, now will they?  Say, what's this old tradition I hear about kissin' the bride, ay?"

"Jack," said Elizabeth, and a soft laugh hummed in her throat.  "You are incorrigible."

"Pirate?" he reminded her.

With that he swept his arm around her tiny waist, around the delectable firmness of a light corset beneath satin, and she squeaked in surprise as he hauled her close.  There he paused, breathing the clean fragrance of lavender.  Her lovely face was just inches away, sculpted in starlight and soft shadow and her eyes were luminous.  Strange, that what he suddenly wanted was none of the things a man usually wanted, when he had a lovely woman in his grasp.  Instead, Sparrow felt as if he held something so precious that his rough hands might shatter it at a touch, and his heart turned queerly in his chest.  When he spoke his voice held a solemnity that the two young people had seldom heard.

"And you, Mrs. Turner, have never been more beautiful."

She lifted her face for his kiss, a brief, chaste brush against soft lips, and he let her go.  When he faced Will again, he could see the smile playing on the young blacksmith's face, between the dapper lines of thin goatee and moustache.  Then in the light of distant lanterns Sparrow fancied he saw another handsome face, like but unlike, older, but with that same light kindled in dancing brown eyes of humor, tolerance, brotherly affection.

Gruffly Jack said, "You done well, boy," and reached to firmly clasp the young man's hand.  "Though it took you bloody long enough."

White teeth flashed in a wide grin.  "Yes, but we sent the invitations well enough in advance, don't you think?"

"What I think," Elizabeth interrupted neatly, "is that Jack Sparrow is a very dear fool, and I wish we had at least thought to bring him a piece of wedding cake.  It's quite good, really, with lots of spices and just a splash of rum."

"Rum?"  Sparrow pivoted to face her and grinned eagerly as he curled his fingers in grabby claws.  "Never mind the cake; I'll take the rum.  You don't by any chance 'ave a bottle stowed in those petticoats, do you?"

"So sorry, Jack," she laughed, and he pressed a hand to his breast with a great sigh.

Then he caught himself and raised a forefinger for their attention.  "Ah, but lest you think me base, I did not come to your nuptial soiree empty-handed."

He dipped his fingers into his coat pocket and pulled out a small and grubby-looking sack.  "A trifle," Jack said, "but it was the best I could do whilst out-running thirty irate Chinamen, four Royal Guards and a cook with a formidably large cleaver.  Word to the wise: never skip out on a meal when dining in Barbados."

Will laughed as he held out his hand - and looked surprised at the weight. Elizabeth leaned close as he hefted the sack to test the contents then loosened the drawstrings.  He up-ended it over his palm, and a gleaming, apple-sized object dropped out.

"Oh …" Elizabeth reached to pick it up, holding it for a transient beam of lantern light.

"'Ave either of you been to Barbados?" Sparrow asked, hands hooked in his sash as he blithely gazed up at the stars.  "Remarkable place, very nearly civilized in spots, but properly boisterous in others."

"Jack …" Will cupped his hand beneath Elizabeth's, the two of them cradling the exquisite sculpture that starlight and lamplight revealed.

"A man there once tried to sell me a woman who was only three feet tall.  Three feet tall, but perfectly formed.  Did I ever tell you that?"  

"This is beautiful.  It …."  Elizabeth's fingers were alabaster in the shadows, cupping a piece more precious yet.

As she held the figurine, Will's craftsman's hand reverently traced smooth curves and delicate carving.  Formed in flawless stone were two swans, forever entwined in graceful curves of neck and wing that somehow suggested the shape of a heart, and most certainly captured the eternal oneness of love.  A priceless gift … from an uncouth, ne'er-do-well pirate.

"Of course," Sparrow went on, "his asking price was completely absurd, so regretfully, I had to decline his offer."

"Jack, what stone is this?"

"Oh, it's jade.  Green rock.  A pity that was, though.  She 'ad the most perfect little hands and a tiny little waist.  Would 'ave been a woman who always looked up to me."

"Jack …"

Sparrow ceased his monologue.  "Aye?"

"Thank you," said Will softly.

Elizabeth moved and Jack yelped as she wrapped a lavender-scented hug around his neck.  To his further disconcertion another arm, much stronger, clamped around him from the other side and squashed him into an embrace that did _not_ smell of lavender.  Which was all very odd.  And not a bit unpleasant.  But for form's sake he clapped a scowl on his face as they stepped back.

"'Ere, now, a simple thank you note would 'ave served."

Will's hand remained lightly on Sparrow's shoulder.  "Jack, if you'll wait we'll bring you out something to eat.  And some rum, if it can be found."

"No, mate."  Sparrow stepped back, gently freeing himself of hindrance.  "Any moment now your commodore will burst out with a dozen Royal Marines at his heels."

"He won't," Elizabeth protested.  "Not here, not now."

"Time to go, lass."  He took another backwards step, and gave his cheekiest grin as he lifted both forefingers in warning.  "A pirate wastes no wind, love, and if I linger I may just abscond with the bride."

"Jack …" Even in this pallid light distress was clear on Will's face.  "I'm sorry - I wish -."

"Don't.  I got what I come for."  His tone gentled as Sparrow stepped again, retreating into shadow.  "I saw you two 'appy."

They could no longer see to read the look on his face.  There was only his silhouette and a brief glimpse of white where his coat opened to expose his shirt.

"Oh, and one more thing."

Will flinched as something flew at him from the dark and he caught it with a clink.  A purse, a surprisingly heavy purse, and he need not open it to feel the weight of coin within.

"Jack -."

"Cheerio, Mr. and Mrs. Turner.  Oh, and watch out for the punch.  I saw a gent tippin' 'is flask over it three separate times."

Then he was gone.  Elizabeth leaned into the circle of her husband's arm and sighed.

"Pirate gold," Will said softly, and smiled as he hefted the purse.

"Just what our wedding needed, I think," said Elizabeth, and looked up at him with a slow, warm smile.  "I want to always have a rogue or two in my life."

"Then you shall, for I will always be here."

They spoke no more for quite some time, or at least spoke not with words. 

~ FINIS ~

**_A/N:_**_ There are a couple descriptive terms that get used twice, once in each part.  They're supposed to be there._  :-)


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